3.29.08-1

lost a rib.
gone when I woke up-- just an emptyness where one used to be
this hollow
absence
vacant.

left me incomplete. We are more anchored by the things that go missing than the things that appear.
Spaces between bars are heavier than any shackles. holding. what isn't there.
unplayed notes sound louder: burden of silence
we are held in the grip of what we don't hear
made of holes that hold meaning.

some are better imperfect:
beautiful song on a blown-out speaker, charms.
weathered smile with missing tooth : endearing
grandfather on his old violin

but still: we long to be whole
one.
(rib returned)

where are you bone of my bones?